I want you

The roar of seventy-five thousand people was not a sound; it was a physical force. It vibrated through the soles of Nini’s sneakers, climbed up her spine, and settled as a frantic drumming in her chest. She squeezed the railing of the VIP balcony, her small knuckles turning white against the cold metal. Below her, the emerald pitch of the Allianz Arena looked like a stage under the blinding floodlights, and the man of the hour was currently dancing across it.

Jamal Musiala moved like water. Even from this height, Nini could pick him out instantly. It wasn't just the number forty-two on his back; it was the way he glided between defenders, the ball seemingly glued to his boot by some invisible thread. He was effortless. He was magic.

And he was also her best friend, which was exactly why Nini felt like she was about to be sick.

"He’s having a blinder, isn't he?"

Nini jumped slightly, her long, brown curls bouncing around her shoulders as she turned to see Leroy Sané’s girlfriend leaning against the glass door. Nini offered a shy, tight-lipped smile.

"He’s playing really well," Nini whispered, her voice barely audible over the "Musi-ala!" chants echoing from the Südkurve.

"Just well? Nini, he’s carrying the midfield," the woman laughed, stepping closer. "You look pale. Do you need some water? Or is it just the nerves of watching your 'friend' in a Champions League semi-final?"

Nini felt the heat crawl up her neck, staining her cheeks a dusty rose. "I’m fine. Just... it’s a big game."

She turned back to the pitch, her eyes frantically searching for him again. She found him just as he received a fizzing pass from Kimmich. Jamal turned on a dime, leaving a world-class defender stumbling in his wake. In that split second, as the stadium held its collective breath, Nini felt a sharp, agonizing tug in the center of her chest.

It wasn't pride. It wasn't the usual excitement she felt for his success. It was a terrifying, suffocating realization that hit her with the weight of a freight train.

She was in love with him.

Oh, no, she thought, her breath hitching. Not now. Not today. Please, not today.

It was the worst possible timing. Jamal was at the precipice of global superstardom, his name on the lips of every scout in Europe. He lived in a world of high-stakes pressure, tactical briefings, and relentless media scrutiny. He needed his "Little Nini"—the girl who watched cartoons with him, who brought him home-cooked meals when he was too tired to move, and who kept him grounded—to be his anchor. He didn't need her to be a complication.

The whistle blew for halftime, and the tension in the air snapped. Nini retreated into the lounge, her head spinning. She found a quiet corner near the window, trying to regulate her breathing.

"Nini!"

She looked up to see Jamal’s mother, Carolin, approaching with a warm smile. Nini straightened her posture, trying to hide the existential crisis currently unfolding behind her eyes.

"He’s doing so well, isn't he?" Carolin said, placing a comforting hand on Nini’s arm. "He told me this morning that he felt focused because he knew you’d be in your usual spot."

Nini felt a lump form in her throat. "He... he said that?"

"He always says that, dear. You’re his safe harbor."

Safe harbor. The words felt like lead. A safe harbor was supposed to be still and predictable. It wasn't supposed to be a swirling vortex of romantic longing. Nini nodded distractedly, her fingers twisting a loose thread on her sweater. She felt small, even smaller than usual, dwarfed by the magnitude of the stadium and the weight of her own heart.

The second half was a blur of noise and color. Nini watched Jamal through a new, painful lens. Every time he fell, her heart stopped. Every time he smiled after a successful play, she felt a pang of joy so sharp it hurt.

In the eighty-ninth minute, it happened. Jamal picked up the ball at the halfway line. He drove forward, a blur of red and white. He cut inside, then out, his body contorting in ways that defied physics. With a sharp crack that seemed to silence the entire city of Munich, he fired the ball into the top corner of the net.

The stadium exploded. The sound was deafening, a literal wall of noise.

Nini didn't scream. She didn't jump. She stood frozen, tears pricking her eyes as she watched Jamal sprint toward the corner flag. He didn't do a choreographed dance. He didn't salute the cameras. Instead, he stopped, scanned the VIP tiers, and pointed directly toward the spot where Nini stood. He blew a quick, almost imperceptible kiss toward her before being swamped by his teammates.

"Did you see that?" someone shrieked behind her.

Nini couldn't answer. She backed away from the railing, her heart hammering against her ribs. She needed to leave. She needed to hide before he saw the truth written all over her face.

---

The post-match atmosphere in the family lounge was electric. Champagne flowed, and laughter bounced off the walls. Nini sat on a velvet stool, her hands tucked between her knees, trying to look invisible. She had spent the last hour convincing herself that she could bury this. She would be the friend. She would be the anchor. She would never, ever tell him.

The heavy double doors swung open, and the players began to trickle in, smelling of grass, sweat, and expensive cologne.

"Where is she?"

The voice was unmistakable—soft, slightly breathless, and laced with that familiar English-German lilt.

Nini looked up as Jamal scanned the room. When his eyes landed on her, his entire face transformed. The fierce, focused athlete vanished, replaced by the boy who used to share his gummy bears with her in the back of a taxi. He pushed past a group of suits and made a beeline for her.

"Nini!" he exclaimed, reaching her in three long strides.

Before she could react, he scooped her up. Because she was so petite, her feet left the floor entirely. He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, his skin still hot from the game.

"Did you see it?" he whispered against her skin. "I did that for you."

Nini’s heart did a slow, agonizing roll in her chest. She clung to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of his tracksuit. "You were amazing, Jamal. Truly amazing."

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands resting firmly on her waist. His dark eyes were searching hers, his brow furrowing slightly. "You’re crying. Why are you crying? Are you okay?"

"I’m just... I’m just happy for you," she lied, the words tasting like ash. "It was a big goal."

Jamal didn't pull away. He ignored the teammates shouting his name and the photographers hovering near the door. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that was meant only for her.

"You’re a bad liar, Nini. You’ve been quiet all week. Even on the phone last night, you sounded... different."

"It’s nothing, Jamal. Go celebrate. You’re the hero of Munich tonight." She tried to push gently against his chest, but he was like a mountain.

"I don't care about being a hero," he said, his expression turning uncharacteristically serious. "I care about why my best friend looks like she’s heartbroken at my victory party."

Nini looked down at his chest, unable to meet his gaze. The curls of her hair fell forward, shielding her face. "It’s just bad timing," she whispered, so softly she thought he wouldn't hear.

"What is?"

"Everything," she said, her voice trembling. "The game, your career, the way everyone looks at you. It’s all so big, Jamal. And I’m... I’m just me. And I realized something tonight that I really shouldn't have realized."

Jamal reached up, his thumb catching a stray tear that had escaped her lashes. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. The noise of the party seemed to fade into a dull hum, leaving only the two of them in a bubble of suffocating honesty.

"Tell me," he commanded softly.

Nini took a shaky breath. She looked at his kind eyes, the messy hair, and the familiar mole near his temple. She realized that if she didn't say it, she would suffocate. The timing was disastrous. He was a superstar, and she was a shy girl who liked quiet libraries and old movies. But the truth was a living thing, clawing at her throat.

"I think I’m in love with you," she whispered.

The words hung in the air, fragile and terrifying. Nini braced herself for the shift—the awkward cough, the "you’re like a sister to me," the slow withdrawal that would signal the end of their easy friendship. She closed her eyes, waiting for the blow.

It didn't come.

Instead, she felt Jamal’s forehead rest against hers. He let out a long, shaky exhale that sounded like a man who had just finished a marathon.

"Finally," he breathed.

Nini’s eyes snapped open. "What?"

Jamal gave a small, lopsided smile, the one he only ever used when they were alone. "You think you realized it at a bad time? Nini, I’ve known since I was seventeen. I’ve been playing every game, scoring every goal, just trying to be someone worthy of you noticing."

"But... you’re Jamal Musiala," she stammered, her brain struggling to process the information. "You could have anyone."

"I don't want anyone," he said, his grip on her waist tightening. "I want the girl who makes me tea when I lose and who tells me when I’m being too arrogant. I want you."

He glanced around the room, realizing they were starting to draw stares. He looked back at her, his eyes dancing with a mix of relief and mischief.

"Look, I have to do ten more minutes of media stuff, and then a team dinner I can't skip," he said, speaking quickly. "But stay. Please stay. Don't go home."

"Jamal, the timing is still terrible," she whispered, a small smile finally breaking through her fear. "You just qualified for a final. You should be celebrating with the team, not worrying about me."

Jamal leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. "There is no celebration without you. Wait for me in the car? I’ll tell the driver to take us to that late-night gelato place you like. Just us."

Nini nodded, her heart finally finding a steady rhythm. "Okay. Just us."

He kissed her cheek—a lingering, soft press of his lips that promised much more—before reluctantly letting her go. As he walked away, he turned back one last time, pointing to his heart and then to her.

Nini stood in the middle of the crowded lounge, her curls messy and her eyes red, but the weight in her chest had vanished. The timing was indeed terrible. The world was watching him, the pressure was immense, and their lives were about to become infinitely more complicated.

But as she watched him navigate the crowd with a new, buoyant energy in his step, Nini realized that maybe there was no such thing as a bad time for the truth.

She smoothed her hair, tucked her hands into her pockets, and headed toward the exit. She had a safe harbor to maintain, and for the first time in her life, she knew exactly where she belonged.